by Caryl McAdoo
Five minutes after they left, he wanted the women back. The house creaked and groaned in the silence. So quiet, too quiet. He called his old cleaning service and had them work their sparkle and shine, but that didn’t alter his foul mood. That first day and the next, he did his best to put the ladies out of his mind. By noon Thursday, they would not be put off any longer. He retreated to his office for the only balm he’d found—his journal. It couldn’t be seven-thirty soon enough.
However, until it was, he consoled himself with his remembrances. Too bad he’d made such a big deal about sending one home every month. He paid for six months of their time, should get to enjoy their company that long. But that wasn’t the deal, and he prized his word too much to change the rules now.
He’d lost himself working on her pages when the sound of tires crushing gravel pulled him back to the moment. He hurried to the patio and slipped into a chair before the limo rounded the house. Wouldn’t do for them to know how badly he’d missed them, though if anyone proved observant, she could surely tell. The car stopped. He remained seated.
Vicki popped out first, toting two huge bags. So young and lovely and energetic, he liked it that she asked him to adopt her. She needed a daddy to show her some attention and teach her about men. In that arena, the girl seemed bound for trouble without intervention. She smiled on her way in then returned to join the others huddled at the back of the car. She looked his way.
“Thanks for the trip, Dub. I never knew shopping for someone else could be so much fun.”
The driver slipped between Marge and Natalie and opened the trunk. The lid popped up like one on a pirate’s chest with jewels overflowing, and the women dove in extracting their treasures. Preston strolled in that direction, and they hovered like hens keeping their chicks from the eye of the hawk.
“Well now, should I have sent a bigger car?”
Audrey nodded as she wrestled one huge bag into the house. “Actually, maybe a U-haul.”
He watched the frenzy a moment then made his way to the kitchen. The women migrated in, lugging their purchases. The trip to Dallas obviously met his every expectation. The ladies seemed renewed and excited—all smiles—and he liked making them happy. Especially since one of his little clutch wouldn’t be so cheerful in a matter of minutes. He wished again there was another way, but put it out of his mind. After all, he still had all those surprises ahead.
A tablet and pencil waited on the table at each place. He found his chair, motioned for them to take their places, then pulled out the two pages of rules. “Okay, my dears. I’ll see the loser afterwards in my office. Glad no one was late. Anyone go over the limit?” He looked to his left.
“No, sir.” Vicki shook her head. “Not me.”
He looked around the table, but got no responses. “Excellent, because if anyone had, she’d be packing about now.” He cleared his throat. “Okay then, get ready to write. Who bought me underwear?”
Everyone grinned or giggled, and all but Vicki raised a hand or spoke up.
“Plus twenty points if it’s all white. Minus twenty if it’s colored - or the wrong size.”
“What’s the right size?”
He told them. Two of the five groaned.
“Well that’s silly.” Marge shook her head. “Why would you do that?”
He leaned back and studied her a moment. He hadn’t figured she’d be the one to question him, seeing how she didn’t like his games anyway. Besides, she marked her scorecard with twenty points in her neat plus column. “Because I hate to take anything back, and everyone knew I said shop for me, but did anyone have the forethought to ask my sizes? No. So if you guessed right, you get points, otherwise it’s a minus.”
She didn’t respond, but gave him a very lazy blink which he took as an aggravated acceptance. He liked a woman willing to stand up to him, but who knew when to sit back down. Marge didn’t let her spunk overrule her respect.
“Plus thirty points if you bought me anything wooden.”
“Cool.” Vicki scribbled on her paper.
“Awe, rats.” Holly slapped the table. “I started to get you this wooden apple boxie thing, but you had wood on the first list. I figured you wouldn’t repeat. Why did you?”
“I like wood. It’s natural, beautiful, and lasts a long time.” He raised his eyebrows. “Okay, plus forty if you bought me quality work clothes. Same thing on wrong sizes. I wear two-x shirts and forty-two/thirty-four pants. Add thirty points for leather work boots. Minus thirty if they’re not size twelve.”
Natalie smiled at Holly. “I started to ask your sizes, but thought I shouldn’t.” She jotted down points, and so did the rest.
“Anyone buy me a suit?”
“I did. It’s pure silk.” Audrey beamed.
He rattled the paper suddenly wishing he hadn’t made it so many points. “Minus fifty.”
She pushed back her chair. “Fifty? Why? It’s you. You’ll look so good in it.”
“Where would I look good in it?”
She held out her hands. “Right here, right now. I’ll go get it. Just try it on, and we’ll all melt in your glow.” She stood. “Tell you what. You try it on, let the women vote.”
“I’d love to see you in a suit.” Vicki pumped her eyebrows.
Marge reached for Audrey’s hand and held it. “Me, too, Dub.”
“Nice try, but it says right here minus fifty.” He thumped the paper. “And that’s that. I haven’t left the place in five years and don’t plan on going anywhere anytime soon. You all knew that. That’s why I decided on this one.”
Audrey sank back into her chair. “But fifty points.”
He would like nothing better than to take her up on the voting offer and wished she hadn’t chosen a suit, but he’d written it down, so he couldn’t change it now. “Let’s move along.” He refocused on his list. “Anyone get me a movie?”
Vicki nodded at Marge who blushed. They grinned like two kids about to bust with a secret. “Lady Bug did even better than that.”
He faced Marge. “Oh you did? Tell me what’s even better.”
“A fifty-two inch HD flat screen combo and fifty old movies they’ve converted to compact disk with comments from the director and stars.” She shrugged. “At least those who are still alive. Or maybe they dug up old interviews.”
“Really?” He studied her then remembered she’d been in his bedroom. “Excellent, seems like it should be worth more, but give yourself twenty points.”
“Thank you.”
“Anyone buy a game?”
Vicki spun around in her chair. “Can I double dip?”
“Like how?”
“Well, I already counted the chess set as being wood, does it count again as a game?”
“Well sure. Give yourself another twenty points.”
He waited until she finished then checked the next item. “At first, I had it limited to a leather belt, then I changed it to anything leather is good for twenty points.”
“What about triple dipping?” Vicki leaned back with a smug expression plastered on her face.
“Double, triple, whatever.”
“Good, because your new chess set has a hand tooled leather case.”
“Count it.”
“Did anyone buy me anything from a discount store?”
Holly raised her pointer finger then grimaced when she remained the only one.
“Minus twenty. And here’s the rest. Fiction books, plus twenty-five, non-fiction, plus ten. Magazines, minus thirty. Computer software, plus ten.” He folded the paper. “Okay, ladies, that concludes the buying half.”
Several talked at once.
“Wait, what about trees?” Natalie twisted the end of her pony tail. “I have a dozen fancy-dancy new strain of apple saplings being delivered ASAP. Do I get any points for those?”
Vicki waved a hand at her. “Well, sure you do, they’re wood, aren’t they?”
Audrey bit her lip. “And what about art supplies? I bought you canvas
es, brushes, and oil paints in every color.”
He held up his hands. “Sorry, art supplies wasn’t on the list, but I like the thought. And yes, Natalie. Count thirty points for the trees since they’ve wood. Well, hey, Audrey, are the brushes wood? Count them.
“But we’re not done. That’s just the end of the buying part.” He gave Audrey a little grimace. “Couldn’t cover every base, sorry, girl.” With the first page back in his pocket, he spread the second sheet. “Who went to the West End?”
As though joined at the hips, Natalie and Holly spoke up. “We did.”
“Together?”
Holly shook her head. “Well, we went together. Shared a cab, but we didn’t stay together.”
“What about Deep Ellum?”
Natalie nodded. “How’d you know? That’s where we met back up later that night at this great club Holly knew about.”
He shook the paper. “Sorry, being alone in the West End is minus thirty points and take another forty off for going to Deep Ellum by yourself.” He looked at the other women. “Anyone else go to a bar or club alone?”
Vicki grimaced. “Hotel bar count?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She filled her lungs then poised her pen over her paper.
“Minus thirty.”
He waved his page. “Did anyone do anything stupid, like bungee-jumping, racecar driving, or going to a bowling alley?” Several smiled, but no one spoke up. “Good. Who visited friends or family?”
Marge nodded. “I had dinner with my daughter, then the next day, visited with my grandchildren at Old Town Park.”
“Hey, that’s not fair.” Natalie pouted. “I don’t have any friends or family in Dallas.”
“Fine, did you call any friends or family?”
“Well, no.”
“Enough said. Besides you had time and money to fly some in.” He turned to his right. “Marge, plus sixty points.”
“Do I count it once or twice?”
He glanced at the pouting Polynesian beauty and shrugged. “Twice.” He refocused on the rules and found his place again. “Okay, going to a church or a museum is worth fifty, a movie twenty. Add an extra ten if it was an Indy.” He pulled the other page out of his pocket and tossed them both on the table. “That’s it. Anyone have any questions?”
“Yes, sir.” Vicki picked up the top sheet. “Not that I went, but was bowling a good or bad thing?”
“Bad.”
Natalie’s expression could sour sweet milk. She could hardly look him in the eye. “Why was going to the West End and Deep Elm such a big minus?”
“Not a place I’d want my wife going alone.”
For the next few minutes, the only sound was pencils scratching and paper rattling as everyone took turns looking over the rules. Finally, they finished.
“Marge, why don’t you start?”
“Two hundred and thirty points. But I still don’t like these competitions of yours.”
He tipped his imaginary hat then looked to Audrey.
She cut her eyes and spoke barely above a whisper. “One forty.”
Holly raised her head. “You’re safe.” She arched her back a bit too much and bit her bottom lip. “Ninety.”
Natalie melted into her seat looking much better. “A smooth even hundred. Sorry, Holly.”
Vicki glanced to her left. “So am I, Holly. I’ve got a hundred and fifty.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Journal entry - May 31st
I would be surprised if there wasn’t royalty in her family tree. What a lady.
After one knock, Holly peeked around the door. “Hey, Dub.”
“Come on in.” He stood and gestured toward the wingback. “Have a seat.”
She slipped into the chair. “Don’t feel bad, Dub. It’s been fun. Really. Actually, I never figured I’d last this long.”
He sat back down then slid the two legal size pages toward her. “I’d like you to sign this. Take as long as you need to read it.”
She scanned the top page then flipped it over and inked her name on the second. “You don’t have to worry about me. I understand your need for privacy.”
“Good.” He exchanged the pages for her check. “Hope this lessens the sting some.”
She unfolded and kissed it. “It’s been great.” She scooted to the edge of her chair. “Want some advice?”
“Sure.”
“Don’t let Audrey get away.”
He laughed. “Sure tend to agree with you about that. I could grow accustomed to her cooking.”
Holly stood. “Well, time to go pack. I’ll be ready at seven. Now, I don’t want to sound uninterested, because I still am, but if you don’t mind, I’d rather not have a goodbye kiss.”
“I understand, and can appreciate that.” He hurried to the door and opened it. “Keep in touch. I’ll send you an invitation to the wedding.”
She nodded and winked. “I’ll be looking forward to it. See you.”
He waited until she disappeared around the corner before he closed the door and returned to his journal. He found Holly’s pages, made a few notations, then flipped back to the rules section. Something dogged him about his plans for the next month, but his mind’s finger couldn’t quite grab it. For the longest, he let his thoughts wander hoping whatever bugged him would worm its way to the front. It never did, so he gave up and went to bed.
By his second cup of coffee in the patio the next morning, he still hadn’t figured out what bothered him. He wanted the ladies lined out, but hated going off halfcocked. The faint warning of displaced gravel at the front gate pulled him from his problem.
He waited a second to make sure it wasn’t someone turning around then strolled toward the lane as the crackling increased. He reached the corner of the house as one of the sheriff’s sedans rolled to a stop. Much to Preston’s surprise, the man himself got out of the cruiser.
“Morning, James T.” He held his out. “Want a cup?”
“Love one, W.G.”
“Black with a dollop of vanilla ice cream?”
James T. smiled. “You bet, when I can get it.”
In no time, Preston poured the sheriff a fresh cup of vanilla coffee, and his long-time friend headed toward the dining room.
Once the man got his boots under the table, he shook his head. “Hate having to ask, but I’ve had a complaint filed and –” He waved as if it were nothing then shook his head again.
Preston lowed himself to eye level. “Come on, now, spit it out. Can’t be that bad.”
The sheriff removed his hat and fondled the shape of the brim as he looked around the room. “You holding a middle aged woman here against her will, W.G.? Well, more precisely, have you brainwashed this alleged lady into your new religious cult?” The words sounded rehearsed.
Preston tried not to burst out laughing, but couldn’t help it. “I’ve got a couple of ladies staying here who might fit that bill. Got a name?”
He nodded. “Marge Winters.”
“Yes, sir, she’s here.”
“May I speak with her?”
Preston pointed toward the hall. “She’s usually up by now, but I guess we can wake her if she isn’t. Want to?”
He perched the hat back on top of his head. “Awe, let her wake up on her own. I’m in no hurry long as the ice cream lasts.”
* *
Marge worked the car’s tires on the gravel into her dream. For forty winks or so, she watched the night vision then sat up wide awake. Her ears strained to catch the faint melody of Preston’s bass. Another man’s tenor brought her to her feet. She peeked out her window. Hmm. A sheriff’s car rested in the circle. It hadn’t been a dream.
She threw on her housecoat then hurried to the kitchen. Preston sat elbow to elbow with a man dressed in a starched white western-cut shirt. A shiny silver star adorned his chest. She stopped at the doorway. Preston looked up. She loved the way he smiled.
“Morning, Marge. James T. here would like a word with you.”
“With me?”
The lawman stood and tipped his white Stetson. “James T. Johns, ma’am, Van Zant County Sheriff. I’d be pleased if you’d allow me to ask you some questions.” He pulled out the chair next to him. “Could I get you a cup of coffee first, ma’am?’
Preston jumped to his feet. “I’ll get it. You ask away.”
The sheriff sat in Marge’s chair, so she slid into Audrey’s. It didn’t fit. “What’s this about, Mr. Johns?”
“Please, call me James T., everyone does. Now, I understand you’re in this here ol’ codger’s employment. How long’s that been, ma’am?”
“Three months.”
“You like it here?”
“Certainly. What’s not to like?”
Preston returned with her coffee, sat the mug in front of her then took his seat. He wore a bemused simper. She wished he’d share the joke.
“And have you been back home since you came, ma’am?”
She glanced at Preston who shrugged then looked back to the lawman. “Excuse me, Sheriff, I’d like to know what this is all about.”
“Well, you see, I’ve had a report filed, ma’am, and I’m trying to determine if there’s any basis to it.”
“What kind of report?” She looked back to Preston. His smirk had grown into a full blown grin. “And what about those feathers hanging out of your mouth, Dub? What are you so happy about?”
“You, Marge. You make me happy.”
“Me? What about me?” Her cheeks warmed. “Will someone please tell me what’s going on?”
James T. waved her off and stood. “Oh, nothing to worry about, ma’am. W.G. here can fill you in. I ought to be getting on back to work I suppose.”
Preston stood. “We’ll walk you out.” He stopped, helped her to her feet then didn’t let go of her hand as they walked outside. Tingling sparks raced from the tips of her fingers to her heart. Once on the patio, she remembered to breathe and not gasp.
The sheriff slipped into his car then rolled down the window. “Almost forgot, W. G., there’s a reporter type asking around town for directions out here.”
